


The Secret Season

by ImperialMint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Dystopia, M/M, ZoSan Christmas Exchange 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The government has many ways to try and control its citizens, and banning Christmas was just the start. Not everyone is content to sit back, however, and Sanji is part of the Elves, a group providing underground Christmas celebrations and aid to those who need it. Sanji doesn't expect this year to be any different, but there is more than a wrapped box waiting for him under the tree, and it sets in motion hope the future can change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret Season

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the ZoSan Christmas Exchange on Tumblr, hosted by the amazing Kumiko-Sama-Chan. I know you put so much work into this event and I don't think I could ever thank you enough! Thank you as well to lunarshores for betaing this for me, you're an absolute star. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and definitely go check out the other wonderful stories for this event. They're all beautiful and there will be so may more!

Voices echo from the main hub of the city as Sanji treads lightly through the dockyard. The air is frigid, and he tries to keep his nose from glowing red by tucking his face into the thick scarf around his neck, and it just about works. His hands are icicles, despite his gloves, and Sanji wants to shove them in his coat pockets. Doing so would would mean abandoning the bags he is carrying, and his bags are too important to leave behind. 

Sirens begin to wail, and Sanji makes a noise of disdain, hastening his pace. Soon, the curfew police will be out in their swarms, looking for people to send into their holding cells. Sanji has no intention of being caught so close to the Reclaimed Day. He’s down at the docks for a reason, and he makes a beeline for a seemingly abandoned and derelict building.

Sanji remembers a Reclaimed Day that went by another name. He remembers a huge tree in the square instead of sirens, he remembers glistening decorations throughout town, even in these decrepit docks, and he remembers how that all changed.

While Sanji had been too young to understand the deep reasons behind the ‘Christmas Crash’, he knows now it had everything to do with money and power. The government hadn’t agreed with the corporations that made millions off the back of Christmas, and in what felt like minutes, the festive season had been banned. The government had even dared to pin the blame on religion, stating Christmas promotes segregation, that not everyone celebrates it, and that meant every last bauble, every last wreath and every last tinsel garland was banned.

Possession of decorations, even just a small trinket, lands in a fine these days. Full blown celebrations land a penalty far steeper, and Sanji has heard rumours of the correction camps being far more sinister than educational facilities. They are all powerless to stop it. Now that the government has its fangs into the corporations, no one dares to defy the rules. If it can take down a huge corporation, people say, then what will it do to one insignificant person?

Sanji won’t let the government take him before he’s repaid what he owes. His life is insignificant to the people who see fit to chain others up just for coming together and celebrating, but he tries to make a difference however he can.

He had started off in the seedier parts of town, handing out leftovers and helping run soup kitchens. Sanji still participates in them now, has even roped other members of the Baratie in to help, and he _knows_ Zeff is damn well proud of them all, even if he’d sooner kick them to the wall than admit it. Zeff makes sure they have the provisions, even if he is unable to physically come with them on their goodwill missions.

During the ten day period either side of the Reclaimed Day, there is a complete lockdown. People are allowed to go to work, participate in social activities and such, but a curfew is in place by 10pm. Charitable organisations are shut down if assessed to be potential threats to the Reclaimed Day (and by that the government is able to shut down almost all charity organisations, particularly those working with the less fortunate), and anyone found lingering outside of their homes is rounded up and taken to the educational camps. The homeless are no exception, and Sanji has seen people being ripped from derelict buildings to be sent to the labour camps that are disguised as educational facilities.

The government stops organisations gaining all the money and power, and at the same time has an excuse to round people up and do whatever they want with them. It is almost too hopeless for anyone to protest, aside from one group.

They don’t have an official name though they are referred to as the Elves. They stand up against the government’s tyranny, providing safe houses and secret locations where families and friends gather to celebrate without fear. They are educating people, providing them with the true facts, and exposing the horror the government is infringing upon its people, and Sanji is proud to say that he is an Elf.

He’d become part of the group when he’d been unable to help a small child. The child had needed food, but Sanji had been empty handed. When he had been about to take the child back to the Baratie, Zeff be damned, a surly looking man had approached him, leaving Sanji with directions and a sharp nod of secrecy.

Opening the door to the safe house had been like a breath of fresh air for Sanji. It was late November, and while the cities were covered in anti-Christmas propaganda, the safe house had been covered in glittering decorations and sparkling lights. Sanji had been transported instantly to his childhood, to the time before he’d ended up cast out of his home and trapped with a stupid old man who refused to die.

The child had lived, and Sanji decided he wanted to help. Six years later, he is still helping, running the kitchens of the biggest safe house and overseeing the recipes passed out to the other houses. Sanji knows how to scrap and save and get the best out of every last inch of food, and his advice has been extremely useful. The money they save goes into the movement, and they are finally growing in momentum. Soon, they’ll be able to take their cause to the people, and perhaps one day topple the tyrants of the government.

But, for now, Sanji needs to cook three large birds and all the sides. He storms into the kitchens with his bags full of spices and herbs, things Zeff informed him he must take (via a kick to the shin), and someone places reindeer antlers on him. They have little bells on, and Sanji smiles, jingling as he begins to unload.

Old Christmas carols begin to filter through the converted warehouse, and Sanji finds himself humming along as he cooks. The room fills with the scent of goose and stuffing, soon accompanied by gingerbread and Christmas pudding as the dessert chefs join his small team. Everyone is happy, and Sanji feels pride well in his chest.

His team persuades him to go relax for a while, and Sanji accepts their offer. They have everything covered anyway, and Sanji is happy to leave the food in their hands. He collects some mulled wine and moves into the main relaxation room, where he sees families and friends gathered together in small groups. Sanji can see some are working and others are soaking in the love and support of the people around them. Either way, everyone seems content.

So Sanji is happy. Until he sees the man in the corner, close to the giant tree they have, as if he’s trying to merge into it. Sanji’s lip twitches as he notices the man’s hair, and he wonders whether the tree decided to have a child.

“Are you trying to return to your creator?” Sanji says as he slides up beside the man. His fingers twitch, and he almost reaches to grab his cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He stops himself at the last moment, remembering that there are kids here. He's promised not to smoke around the kids.

The man shoots him a frown and shuffles slightly back.

“No,” he grunts, looking at the tree. “And shut the fuck up.”

Sanji’s reindeer antlers jingle as he adjusts the band they’re attached to, and he has another idea. He leaves the man for a moment, rushing from the social room and into one of the many storage cupboards. After a brief tussle with tinsel garlands, Sanji manages to open the cupboard he knows contains all the novelty hats, and his eye catches on one he knows will be perfect for the tree-man.

“I got you a gift,” Sanji says when he returns to the man’s side. He wastes no time in shoving the offensive tree-shaped fabric atop the man’s head, pulling it down so that his face peeks through the hole in the tree.

The man looks furious.

“What are you doing, idiot?” he hisses, hands coming to cover Sanji’s in effort to stop his hands holding the hat in place. His hands are broad, scarred and warm, and Sanji does let go, shrugging.

“You looked pathetic by yourself,” he says, slipping his hands free of the man’s. “And if you’re part of the Elves, you shouldn’t have to stand alone by the tree.”

The man frowns at him - and Sanji wonders if it’s all he’s capable of articulating - and grunts. His hands stop trying to tug the tree hat off, though, so Sanji considers the man to have accepted his presence. Usually, Sanji keeps walking during his breaks, having no reason to stop and interrupt groups, but he thinks maybe he’ll stay here. Just to keep the man company of course.

“Zoro,” the man says abruptly, arms crossed over his chest. “My name’s Zoro.”

Sanji nods. “I’m Sanji. This your first time here, Mr Christmas Tree?”

Zoro’s scowl returns, but he nods all the same. Sanji can tell he is uncomfortable, and he decides to take a little pity. He remembers being shocked by the seasonal affair when he first entered into this underground world.

“I help cook,” he adds, feeling suddenly anxious. He really wants Zoro to like him, he realises, and shifts his weight onto one leg, trying to appear open and, well, nice.

“I thought my friend would be here,” Zoro says, shrugging. “She’s not.”

“Oh,” is all Sanji can manage out, and he bites his cheek, wishing he had a cigarette. Smoking works a treat as a distraction.

“I can ask the admin guys if they know her?” Sanji says, but Zoro shrugs, looking down at his feet. There’s more to this story than Zoro’s letting on.

Sanji is about to say something when the dinner bell goes. He curses – he hadn’t realised how long he’s been with Zoro – and he makes to dash to the kitchen. Just before he takes off, though, he glances at Zoro, and he knows that good food won’t cure all his ails.

“I have to plate up,” Sanji begins earnestly, voice low. “But after this, I know a place where they sell strong booze and let you smoke. Fancy tagging along?”

There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in Zoro’s agreement, and Sanji wanders back to the kitchen with a strange feeling in his chest. He hasn’t felt this feeling since he was younger and discovered what liking someone meant, and it unnerves him a little now. Zoro seems like a pretty shady guy.

Over dinner, Sanji keeps food coming. He barely has time to sit, and when he does, it’s the odd free chair. He manages to watch Zoro, though, and finds him even odder than he’d thought before. They’ve both lost their Christmas headgear at some point, and Sanji is able to see Zoro’s face clearly, and the non-frowning expressions he makes. A little girl sits beside Zoro, and they talk happily, the mother completely at ease with Zoro’s presence. He can’t be all that bad a man, Sanji reasons.

Is he a good man though?

Sanji is chased away from cleaning up, and while he feels guilty as he steps out of the kitchen, he is exhausted too. He’ll be back tomorrow, too, to do this all over again, and everyone knows how important it is to share the workload.

Zoro is waiting by the Christmas tree again, and Sanji has a bizarre thought that perhaps Zoro is his gift this year. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the thought but doesn’t brush it away entirely, holding on to the warmth it gives him. Sanji decides he must be a sap at heart.

They walk in silence to the back of the converted warehouse. There is a small exit here, overshadowed by another block of buildings, and it’s proved to be a great exit. No one has ever been caught this side, and it’s closer to the establishment Sanji’s taking them to. They tread lightly, breath fogging the air around them, until they reach the outer parts of the city. 

Sanji isn’t sure how good Zoro’s awareness of their surroundings is on account of his single eye, so he makes sure to look for danger more than he usually would. Usually he’d be able to slip away easily, but he isn’t sure how good Zoro is at that. He probably should have checked that before they walked outside after curfew.

Sanji gets his answers just as they emerge onto the street the bar is located. Sanji’s just about ready to hurl himself at the door and in front of the fire he knows is burning in there when he hears heavy footsteps. He grabs Zoro’s arm, and can tell Zoro’s seen them too, judging by the way Zoro is tense and preparing himself for a fight.

“Two rats breaking curfew here,” one of them says, spitting into the street.

The bar is off the table then, Sanji decides. He can hear other policemen surrounding them and takes a deep breath. With a bit of difficulty, his numb fingers move from Zoro’s arm to dig into his own coat, and then further into his suit jacket, pulling out his cigarettes. He lights one and inhales gratefully, shoulders relaxing a little.

“What do you think, marimo?” he asks, substituting the banned Christmas words for another green plant. He doesn’t want to give the police more reasons to ship them off somewhere nasty.

“I think they chose the wrong day to be on duty,” Zoro replies, and Sanji smirks excitedly, almost grinning. He lets his cigarette fall to the ground, and they move forward in perfect synchronisation.

While Sanji flips onto his hands, Zoro charges forwards, and they both send police flying. If they stay here, though, they will be overwhelmed, and Sanji straightens up as Zoro turns to him, nodding for Zoro to follow him.

There’s no other option, and Sanji heads home. The Baratie is a little further in, but Sanji can see the obnoxious fish design already. The lights are still on, which means Zeff is still up and about, probably sniffing around to make sure Sanji doesn’t get thrown in prison. He sighs, checking to see that Zoro is keeping pace, and he feels a small burst of relief to see Zoro not even breaking a sweat as they tear down the road.

The police are long behind them now, and Sanji slips into the unlocked Baratie, taking another cigarette out as he leans against the front door. He lights it, eyes tracking Zoro as he peers around the restaurant. He’s fit, Sanji notices, for he’s not breathing the slightest bit heavily. Maybe he’s used to running from the police.

That makes Sanji like him even more.

“We’re not going to get arrested because we broke in somewhere are we?” Zoro asks, voice low.

Sanji shakes his head. “It’s mine. Well, partially.”

There’s movement in the back, and Sanji thinks he hears the stairs creak. Zeff is likely heading to bed, content he’s home, and Sanji wonders how he’ll explain himself in the morning. Zeff never wants to hear about his illegal activity, but Zoro will be a different story. Assuming he sticks around until breakfast, that is.

“I have booze here,” he offers as a peace treaty. Sanji can sense Zoro’s discomfort, and he doesn’t blame him. Being in a strange place with no option to leave is hardly comforting, especially when the police are lingering outside, like scavengers around a carcass.

They move to the bar, and Sanji pours them both a drink. He sinks into one of the soft armchairs they have, and Zoro takes the chair opposite.

“So you’re a chef by day too?” Zoro asks, looking a lot more relaxed now he has a drink in his hands. “You dress fancily. I thought you were some high up at first.”

Sanji snorts.

“First impressions aren’t always that great, Christmas tree,” he says, and Zoro’s frown returns. He clearly doesn’t appreciate the nickname, and that makes Sanji want to call him by it even more.

They drink in silence, but it's the kind that makes Sanji wonder if they’ve really just met. They sit comfortably, soaking in each other’s presence, and Sanji feels himself drifting off to sleep, eyes closing slowly.

“I was looking for my friend,” Zoro says, and Sanji opens an eye slightly. He’s heard this part of the story, but maybe this time Zoro will continue.

“She said she was going to join one of the anti-Reclaimed Day groups. She left, and I just let her go.” Zoro takes in a shaky breath, and Sanji watches him lean forward, elbows on knees and head sunk down. He hates himself, Sanji realises, for something beyond his control.

Sanji can help, though. He’s seen families split apart due to issues stemming from the Reclaimed Day. His birth family had been torn apart because of it, though Sanji remembers little about why or how. He has connections now, though, and if Zoro’s friend came to a safe house, someone will have it registered.

“What’s her name?” he asks, digging his phone from his trouser pocket.

“Isshin Kuina,” Zoro says, voice tight. It takes Sanji all of ten seconds to fire off a text to Robin (who knows everything about everyone, after all), and he sits back, taking a sip of his drink.

Zoro stares at him, eyes narrowed. He isn’t the sort who trusts easily, Sanji recognises, and he meets Zoro’s gaze with ease.

“If she went to a safe house, she’ll be registered. You had to sign something to get in, didn’t you?” Zoro inclines his head slowly. “We’ll be able to find out.”

With perfect timing, Sanji’s phone vibrates, and he sees a message notification. It’s from Robin and only has one sentence. 

“No,” Sanji says quietly. “She never registered.”

Zoro sinks in his seat, but he doesn’t break. Sanji thinks that he’s known Kuina never made it to them all along, though he’s tried so hard to convince himself otherwise.

Sanji bites his cheek and for once refrains from picking up a cigarette. He knows things, knows a lot of things actually, and there’s something he can tell Zoro that would help.

“We don’t just sit around making dinners, you know,” he says quietly, stomach churning. He hopes Zoro can sit and take the news: they can’t risk running outside anymore.

“I figured,” Zoro replies curtly, but he looks up, gaze firm. Though he may not look it, Sanji can tell this is a man who is brimming with passion and determination. If there’s a way he can help his friend, he’ll do anything.

“They’re not called safe houses for nothing.” Sanji aches for a cigarette, but whiskey has to fill the void for now. He’ll reward himself after, but he needs to get the truth out. “We get people out of the camps, rescue them one by one. We save them and protect them, and if she’s in there, we’ll get her out.”

It’s not much, but it’s all Sanji has to offer. He reaches for his cigarettes, and his body relaxes as he lights one, tension dripping down into the armchair.

“How do I do that?” Zoro asks eagerly, words tumbling out of his mouth, like waves crashing against the shore. “Where do I go to help?”

He looks so earnest and desperate that Sanji’s heart goes out to him. His jaw clenches, and he exhales smoke quickly, looking away.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, because he’s only ever cooked for the Elves. Still, Sanji can’t leave Zoro like this, and he makes his decision. He looks at Zoro with his next words, tilting his chin. “But I’m willing to find out with you. I want to do more.”

The smile that lights Zoro’s face does strange things to Sanji, and he coughs. Zoro is thankful, truly and honestly thankful, and Sanji doesn’t think anyone’s smiled so honestly at him in his entire life.

“You don’t even know me,” Zoro says doubtfully, but his smile is still there. For whatever bizarre reason, he seems to trust Sanji just as much as Sanji trusts him.

“No,” Sanji agrees, emptying his glass and licking his bottom lip. He isn’t a stranger to the heat in Zoro’s gaze as it drops to follow his tongue. “But a Christmas tree won’t be getting too far without me.”

They lapse into silence again, and Sanji slides his legs out, brushing against Zoro’s calf. He apologises, but makes no sign to move, and Zoro relaxes against Sanji. Zoro is warm, and Sanji can feel the strength he possesses in the muscles of his leg, even through clothes. If he wasn’t so tired, he might ask Zoro to join him upstairs, but he doesn’t. Not tonight anyway.

“We need to go to bed,” Sanji says, and his voice has already deepened in tiredness. Zoro nods, passing Sanji his glass and following him to the sink behind the bar. The cool water wakes Sanji a little, and he stretches, wondering where Zoro will sleep.

Down here is out of the question (Zeff will see him first, and Sanji wants to avoid the two of them meeting without him), and there is no spare room in the house. Zoro can have his bed, Sanji decides, and he’ll kip on the floor. One night won’t do him any harm.

They slink upstairs quietly, like two teenagers trying to keep it down after sneaking out of the house. Sanji warns Zoro of the quirks of the house, such as the wonky step and the dodgy floorboard, and they manage to get to Sanji’s room without Zeff storming out. Sanji sighs in relief when he shuts his door, already deciding he’ll skip basic hygiene tonight in favour of crawling into bed. Or, well, onto the floor.

“You take the bed,” he says, moving to a hamper at the bottom of the bed. Sanji pulls out a duvet and pillows, dumping them on the floor. “I’ll burn your breakfast if you dare argue,” he threatens, and Zoro has no idea how empty that threat is. 

Whether Zoro is too tired to argue or he accepts the breakfast threat, Sanji isn’t sure, but he does climb into the bed, after stripping down to his underwear. Sanji offers him something to wear (it is cold after all), but Zoro shakes his head. 

“You don’t mind?” Zoro asks, but he’s not really asking permission to sleep in his underwear. He’s faking politeness, and Sanji kicks his shin as he passes, hunting for his own clothes.

“You do what you want, Christmas tree,” he mutters, frowning as he remembers his sleepwear is under his pillow. “Shove over a second.”

Zoro obliges, falling back heavily onto Sanji’s pillows a moment later. His eyes are closed and Sanji takes a moment to stare at him. How could he have been bothered by Zoro sleeping in his underwear? He’s hardly a sight for sore eyes with his entire body of rippling muscle. 

He shrugs, tearing his eyes away and changing into lounge trousers and baggy shirt. It’s too damned cold in here. He’s not sure how Zoro’s managing not to freeze.

“Just go to sleep, Christmas tree,” Sanji mutters in the darkness a little while later. He can practically feel the anxiety radiating off of Zoro from above, and while he wants to help Zoro, there’s nothing they can do for the moment.

Miraculously, though, Zoro listens to his words, and Sanji is lulled to sleep by horrendous snoring.

**.**

He wakes to horrendous snoring too and bolts upright. Sanji checks his phone in a panic and swears, standing and gathering suitable work clothes, running to the bathroom a moment later. He rushes, cursing at himself for sleeping in late. Zeff is going to give him hell.

Sanji is pretty sure he’s not 100% presentable when he rushes down the stairs, but he wraps confidence around himself instead. He’ll sort the Zoro thing out later, but, for now, he has to fight tooth and claw in order to scrape by the day without being sent out.

It’s… quiet. He walks slowly to the kitchen, passing the restaurant seating area, and is puzzled to find it empty. He peeks inside the kitchen, and it’s as pristine as it was the night before, no signs of being used whatsoever.

Sanji decides to venture back upstairs, and he finds Zeff in their little kitchen up there. He is bustling about, huge carton of eggs open and a tinny radio playing some awful, jangly music. It hurts Sanji’s ears a little, and he stands in the threshold.

“Well, come in, little eggplant,” Zeff says, raising an eyebrow. Sanji knows why. He’s wearing a bright blue shirt, grey trousers and odd shoes. It was all he could grab in his panic.

“Why is the restaurant closed?” Sanji asks, and Zeff shakes his head, turning back to whatever he’s cooking. It smells heavenly, not that Sanji will ever say that out loud.

“Your head’s so far up in the clouds you have no idea what day it is,” Zeff says. He fiddles around with the pan, adding something. Sanji’s stomach grumbles, and he goes to wash his own hands. He’ll fix up something for Zoro and himself.

There is a small, slightly yellowed calendar by the kitchen cupboards, and Sanji almost wants to laugh. It’s the 25th, the Reclaimed Day, Christmas Day. He isn’t sure how he lost track of time, but Sanji knows now what he’ll be doing with his day.

Zeff nods to him, plating his food up and leaving the room. He’ll be watching old films today, and Sanji will join him later. They have a rare collection of banned films, ones Sanji will never tire of. Perhaps Zoro will join them. Sanji would like that.

Before he begins cooking, Sanji wanders down the hall to open his bedroom door, making sure the kitchen door is open too. He makes a start on breakfast, and, as Sanji had hoped, it summons Zoro. He walks in, in the clothes from yesterday to Sanji’s disappointment, and pauses by the kitchen table. Sanji breaks eggs and sets about frying things, preparing a special feast just for Zoro.

“I have a surprise for you too,” Sanji says. The unit at the end of the worktop has a hidden side, and Sanji is able to slide it open, pulling out a small box.

Sanji places the box on the table. Usually he has to coerce Zeff into wearing the hats the box contains by promising dishwashing duty for weeks, but Sanji has someone else this year. He turns back to the food, making sure nothing is going to burn, before presenting Zoro with his gift.

It’s a headband with a tree on it, only the tree is made from a coiled, spring-shaped wire. A bright light sits on top, and Sanji places it on Zoro’s head, turning the light on and taking a step back to admire his handiwork.

“Perfect,” he says, and Zoro grumbles. He doesn’t make to take it off, though, and Sanji decides he secretly loves it.

Sanji finishes the eggs and begins setting food on plates. He begins listing what they could do after Zoro confirms he’s happy to hang around. Butterflies are fluttering around Sanji’s stomach, and he freezes as he feels Zoro come up behind him.

Zoro is so close that Sanji can feel the heat from his chest. He leans back a little, trying to focus on the plates before him, though it becomes increasingly hard as Zoro’s hand slides against the back of his arm.

“It’s only fair,” he says, before he places something on top of Sanji’s head. It’s a matching hat to his, Sanji can tell by the way it moves as he turns around. He rolls his eyes and catches Zoro’s hand with his own.

“Tell me if I’m misreading this,” he says, tugging Zoro a little closer, until he is trapped between worktop and Zoro’s body. There is only one option to take, and Sanji kisses Zoro gently, more of a peck than anything else.

He pulls back, pressing his lips together tightly. The food is getting cold, and they should really sit down, but then again, Zoro is staring at him so intensely that Sanji thinks perhaps this breakfast will be better cold.

“You’re not,” Zoro replies at last, and Sanji tingles in response. He feels like an awkward teenager all over again, only this time it’s worse because Zoro is so much more than anyone he’s ever been attracted to. He’s gorgeous, but he’s also thoughtful. He’s caring, despite his outward look, and Sanji lets his fingers slide over Zoro’s clothed stomach, happy to stay in this position all day.

Zoro kisses him again. His lips are warm and firm, and Sanji inhales sharply, closing his eyes and losing himself a little. Zoro is a good kisser, and they separate slowly, when Zoro’s stomach rumbles.

“Breakfast,” Sanji says quietly, letting his hat bob as he brings the plates to the table. “Then we’ll see about these shitty Christmas films.”

It’s the perfect day, Sanji thinks, and the start of a new revolution. Where they are heading won’t be easy, but it’s the right thing to do. Sanji hopes that, one day, huge trees will replace the sirens and lights will glisten in the night as people come together without fear. They’ll free those trapped, no matter how long it takes

Everything starts with a spark, though, and Sanji thinks there’s more than enough of that when he’s with Zoro.


End file.
